


Breakfast in Bed

by KateKintail



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakfast in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast in Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Remus/Sirius Fuh-Q-Fest Challenge FM19- Breakfast in bed. Many thank yous to Tina, my wonderful betareader. JKR created the Harry Potter series, its universe and characters. I make no money off this and mean no harm

I’ve had literally more than a hundred breakfasts in bed. It’s not that I’m a sucker for them, though I do enjoy them and after so many I cannot possibly imagine my life without them. The cause is Sirius Black, who insists on presenting them to me on the mornings after my transformations. It started during our first years of Hogwarts, when he used to sneak chocolate chip scones to me at the hospital wing. After many years, it progressed to French toast followed by French kissing. In fact, the number of breakfasts in bed is probably closer to two hundred, because he springs them on me now weeks away from the full moon.

Sirius is the master of breakfasts in bed. In all the time he’s been giving them to me, only a handful of times has he ever brought something I didn’t feel much like eating; and even then, he’s usually able to persuade me to eat it anyway. Somehow he’s able to read my cravings and desires, even as I sleep. This morning, for example, was two days after the full moon. He bought me a bowl of fruit, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and coffee. I wolfed it down at once, all but the fruit, which Sirius and I fed to each other as I pulled him off. I adore my breakfasts in bed, and all that comes with them.

But for all the hundreds of times I have breakfasted in bed, not one of them has been my decision. Every one has been Sirius’ doing… something I mean very much to change.

It cannot be so difficult a thing, can it? Wake up well before Sirius, load up a tray full of goodies, and deliver them to bed as quickly as possible before the delectable smells reach Sirius’ nostrils. I may not be the swiftest thing on two feet, and I may be no great shakes in the kitchen, but I believe I can handle one breakfast in bed without making too much of a mess of it.

*

My morning began just as the faintest light of dawn showed itself through the window and into our bedroom. I cracked my eyes open and very nearly decided to forget the deed to try again some other morning. My eyes seemed completely unable to adjust to the light, eyelids slamming shut every time I tried to force them open. Finally, I pulled myself out of bed without the aid of sight.

It was something I really should not have done, I found out several moments later as my foot struck the edge of my nightstand. I crumpled onto the floor in my nightshirt, clutching my foot and holding my mouth open wide in a silent cry of sudden, sharp pain. I breathed out harder than I meant to, but made no other sound. Still, I opened my eyes, turned my head, and looked back to be sure Sirius had not awakened.

Then I crawled silently across our bedroom and slipped out to the hallway. My foot still smarted but it hurt less than I was tired. Every bone in my body ached, fervently objecting to my early rising. My place was in bed with my Sirius. I had a strong feeling that he would even appreciate an early morning fuck as much as he would a few muffins. After all, if I wrapped my lips around his cock and sucked, there would be far less mess than if we got crumbs all over the sheets.

However, I was determined. Just this once at least, I would repay his kindnesses with an honest-to-goodness breakfast in bed. It did not seem fair that I got so many special mornings served up to me on a metal tray and he did not get a single one in return.

Waffles slathered in syrup are Sirius’ favorite, and yesterday I made sure the fridge and pantry were stocked with ingredients enough for that particular meal. When I looked into the sack of flour in the cupboard, however, I found only a few ounces left there. Panic set in. I recalled a batch of cookies Sirius had baked and taken over to James and Lily. He must have counted on getting more flour at the store today, and not counted on me surprising him. Not more than ten minutes into my plan and already I had to settle.

If waffles were out, I’d have to settle for making toast and an omelet. Toast… two pieces of bread popped into the toaster. And an omelet… four eggs broken open and dropped onto the floor.

I swore out loud and grabbed a dishrag. The gooey mess took some time and several rags to clean up off the tile floor. I reckon I could have done a better job of it were I to take my time. However, I felt so terribly rushed, as though at any moment Sirius could wake up and spoil the whole thing. Luckily, this would be faster than making waffles. Except that there were only two eggs left. Not quite enough for the omelet I wanted to make.

Instead, I’d have to settle for a scramble. I got down on my hands and knees- the way Sirius liked me best- and raided the vegetable drawer. I found a package of mushrooms; I took one, washed it, and cut it into small pieces. There were some cherry tomatoes; I did likewise with them. There was also half of an onion; I passed on that, thinking of the taste of the kisses that would hopefully come once Sirius woke to find the exquisite breakfast in bed I’d brought him. Luckily, I found a bit of leftover ham and a green pepper as well; I hoped that would be enough for my purposes.

I turned on one of the burners and lit it. Nothing happened. Silently, I begged for the range not to be broken. I tried again, and the sight of a flame brought a small bit of relief.

Still feeling rushed, especially with the eggs in the pan on the burner, I very nearly cut my finger. Even though I was cutting quickly, I felt the sharp serrated blade against the edge of my finger and was able to pull back before it was too late. Worse than making a mess of breakfast would be to wake Sirius up so he could escort me to the emergency ward of St. Mungos. Proud that I’d escaped this portion without injury, minor or otherwise, I used the knife to slide the bits of vegetable and meat into the frying pan.

As I stirred with a spatula, my nose twitched. Something was burning. I checked the temperature on the range; it was low. I bent over, sniffing. I could detect all the distinct components of the scramble, from the eggs to the meat to the veggies. Not one bit of it was burning, however. My nostrils flared. Something was definitely burning. I looked around the kitchen.

The toast! I’d completely forgotten about the toast. I abandoned the frying pan at once and dove for the toaster. All that remained of the bread were two hard, black, charred lumps. I pried them free of the toaster and the ash crumbled between my fingers, sprinkling upon the counter. With a sigh, I tried again with another two pieces of bread. Then I quickly leapt back to the frying pan and stirred. Already, part of it had been burnt. I picked those pieces out and tossed them into the rubbish bin along with the toast.

At the end, I came out with just enough of the egg concoction for one person and two overly-toasted pieces of bread spread with grape jelly. Shite. Sirius hated grape jelly. I glared at the jar. Why did we even have it around? I’d just grabbed the first jar I’d seen in the fridge. With a sigh of frustration, I tilted the plate and watched the toast slide into the trash. A moment later, I regretted the fact, because my stomach rumbled. But if I were hungry, Sirius must be starving. Sirius always woke up hungrier than I did.

I looked down at the tray. Even after I’d poured two glasses of orange juice, it looked pathetic and empty. With a sigh, I put a kettle on the stove for tea. Sirius only took tea when he was ill, and then only after I’d spent hours forcing it on him. However, I wanted- nay, needed- a cup of tea for myself, and it made the tray look more full. Then I got out two bowls and filled them with corn flakes. After kicking myself for not buying any fresh fruit to go on top of it, I settled for merely adding milk.

I was halfway down the hall before I remembered silverware and napkins. I thought I heard movement in the bedroom, so I panicked and hurried back to the kitchen. I grabbed the forgotten items and found there wasn’t much room for them on the tray.

After dropping one fork on the floor, and double-checking to make sure I’d turned off the stove, I picked the tray back up and went straight for the bedroom. Unfortunately, I moved too quickly. The cereal sloshed over the edges of the bowl and onto the tray. The tall glasses of orange juice tilted and almost tipped over. I dropped another fork but didn’t go back. We could make do with one between the two of us.

Apparently, I had an overactive imagination, because Sirius was still fast asleep when I returned. I didn’t trust myself to sigh, for fear of waking him, so I expressed my relief by way of a smile. I settled down onto my side of our bed, balancing the tray on my lap. The breakfast wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for. But as I mopped up the bits that had gone awry on the trip down the hall, I decided it wasn’t so bad. I’d managed to wake up early, get some semblance of breakfast prepared, and returned to bed before Sirius woke. Now there was nothing to do but strike a casual pose and wait for Sirius.

Wait for Sirius.

And wait some more. Anxiously.

As the eggs and the tea were cooling off. In fact, I decided just to begin drinking the tea. I was sure Sirius wouldn’t want any, anyway, and I didn’t have to drink all of it.

So I sipped tea and waited.

And waited some more. I was on edge.

I was worried now that the whole breakfast, such as it was, would be spoiled. The cornflakes were already getting soggy, and the cooling items were on their ways to being cold. Still, Sirius slept.

Finally, I nudged him. “Sirius?” Nothing. “Sirius? Wake up, Love.” Still nothing. I reached down and ran my fingers through his hair affectionately. “Sirius?”

He stirred. In fact, he more than stirred. At my touch, he woke with a jolt. His body jumped and his eyes flew open. Worst of all, his knee came up and bumped the tray in the exact wrong place. The whole breakfast went flying. Some of it- like the juice- went in a beautiful arc, falling onto the floor in broken glass and sticky liquid. Other parts of it- like the food- toppled right onto the bed or worse, onto me.

I froze, staring at the mess, blinking at the destruction and ruined intentions. Sirius stared, too. “What’s this then?”

I felt sick and disappointed to have to explain. “Well, it was supposed to be breakfast in bed.” The milk was soaking into my pajama bottoms now, chillingly cold. I winced and pushed the remnants of the breakfast aside in order to strip my sodden clothes off. “Right from the start, it’s been a disaster,” I grumbled. “First the… no, never mind.” I took a deep breath. I already felt pathetic; there was no reason to list it out and make me feel worse. So I said, in a sort of calm, songlike way, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Sirius whispered. He was smiling at me. That smile was more than just a smile, though. It was desire and touch and pretty soon the breakfast wasn’t the only mess we’d made on the bed.

After both of us had been seized with ecstasy, Sirius rolled off me and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth to remove traces of what he had swallowed. “How did you do it?”

I smiled, happy to let my tea grow cold now. “Do what?” I asked, pulling Sirius close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Sirius placed a kiss on my cheek and whispered, “How did you know just what to give me for breakfast in bed?”


End file.
